Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, Or what's a heaven for?
That single sweet apple that blushes red on a far-off branch, on the distant edge of the farthest one, is what the fruit-pickers have missed. Or not so much missed: their arms lacked the length.
οἶον τὸ γλυκύμαλον ἐρεύθεται ἄκρῳ ἐπ' ὔσδῳ, ἄκρον ἐπ' ἀκροτάτῳ, λελάθοντο δὲ μαλοδρόπηες, οὐ μὰν ἐκλελάθοντ', ἀλλ' οὐκ ἐδύναντ' ἐπίκεσθαι
Sappho (fragment LP 105a)